Monday, May 31, 2010

I wrote this piece the other day and thought that I should leave it on my hard drive. It has much to do with my recovery from the horrors of addiction, and I thought it might be an impediment to my pursuit of gainful employment in the writing field. As a part of my daily routine I write a page of just unrestricted prose. An exercise I have mentioned before and a great aid to the flow of my writing. I have recently begun this exercise again and have increased my daily word count dramatically. The last time I used this kind of task, I wrote two books for a total of 170,000 words in about eight months.

I added the piece to the page you are reading so that there can be some substance to what I write. I left it on that page and then did another today. Today’s piece had been performing double duty as it was intended to be posted. If you do not get bored and read the piece I post after this, you will find the reason I have offered this one.

Gobbledygook

Does anyone else see the futility of trying to be in the moment when the moment only lasts a moment? The moment is a valued commodity to me in that my participation in a Twelve Step Program teaches me the purpose of it. Unfortunately it does little to address the impatience that is a part of everyone who seeks aid and comfort through the ideals discovered by Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob. It is and always will be a stumbling block in the treatment of a disease that in reality denies description when thought of in the same circumstance as more popular maladies. It is certainly not definable as the common cold is, and the treatment cannot be readily found in over the counter remedies. It is most assuredly as deadly as cancer, yet chemotherapy will avail one naught. There is little by way of description on treatment that may be considered universal. I find relief in the Twelve Steps where others find alternative methods to their panacea. I will admit to engaging in an arrogance of sorts in the therapy used to combat my disease, and that is only due to the fact in my life that the process I use employ has shown such positive results in my life. I discover answers to difficulties that range far outside of the scope of the symptoms that are the foremost indications that one has the disease of addiction.

Where it comes to obsessive and compulsive behavior there has no pill the physician can prescribe. As a matter of fact, a pill would probably just be another way to exhibit the very actions that brought one to seek treatment in the first place. There is no physical therapy for the fanatical need to destroy ones self, which can and does occur in the course of the disorder. Unfortunately, even with the most rigorous of effort in any treatment there are certain aspects that contribute to continued need for the healing strategies a person uses.

Impatience and the desire to look to the future for relief for today’s pain is an easy method of resisting that which is key to recovery. I find myself making plans for times in the future when I am fully aware of the fact that the future does not exist but as an abstraction in my mind. Tomorrow is not going to happen unless I live this moment, and then live this moment, and then live this moment…until it is tomorrow. I speak on this page many times of the desire, need, or dream of making a living as a writer of words. My desire is due to a poverty in me where it come to expressing myself. I can find the words on a page where in verbal pursuits they elude me. It is, I am aware, an annoyance to read this blog due to the prodigious use of large words, alliteration, rhymes, and abstract thinking. It is equally difficult for me to write in that my need to make a living at this trade has come as a result of poor decisions in earlier times. I am approaching the age of retirement and have not prepared myself in a manner where I can expect to live an adequate lifestyle. For whatever reason, I need to earn more and that is irritating in that I have to live this moment, and another moment, and another moment until that comes to pass. I have seen the way others have lived in retirement and it has frightened me.

I am and have tried to avoid following in my fathers footsteps in many ways. I didn’t know my father very well, and have some regret in that. He was a hard man to know and died when he was but a year older then I am now. I have almost all of the maladies he suffered when he died, and it brings fear to me when I think of the future.

There again, I resist the safety of the known for the angst of the future. My dream is anchored solely in the past. I remember that young boy who read his cousin’s comic books and was enraptured by the words and not the pictures. I cannot recall a time when I did not think in terms of the story, and how I could tell it.

This does not bode well for me in my pursuit of recovery, or, perhaps it does. One of the things I have found the most comfort in, as I attend meetings, and perform the tasks that are associated with a twelve step program, are the unique necessity of learning the same lessons over and over again. Some find it irritating, while I find comfort in it. It tells me that I am still alive. It tells me that the ability to remain teachable is a valued commodity. Those who are reading that are my brothers and sisters in recovery will recognize this well. Those who are not versed in the program might find it irksome to have to read this guy whine about his life.

The only answer I have for those who find fault with today’s tome is to retreat to earlier in this page and that is my arrogance. They do not charge me for this blog so I get to write what I want. You opened the e-mail notifying you that I had spewed words on the page again, so I get to write what I want. I recognized my need to work on my recovery first thing this morning and get double duty from my words, so I get to write what I want. I have gotten to live a few more moments on the way to that place that does not exist…the future, so I get to write what I want. And lastly, I get to share this with people I love, and some who I would like to love, so I get to write what I want. Peace.

Surfing the web the other day, I stopped by this page to see if some person of import had deemed it germane to leave a comment on my most recent declarations. I found one which irritatingly enough was listed as anonymous, and caused some feeling in me demanding a reply. Given that it is an anonymous comment, reply comments do not create an automatic reply emails as a result of my riposte. It has given me some deeper thought in the ensuing days, hours, and minutes. It irked me and I feel need to expound on that irking.

The comment suggested that my recent post’s in this “It’s Mommy’s Fault” genre had been motivated by an article on a website where a woman enlightened the cyberverse on the affliction she called “Shopping Addiction.” I was of the belief that this malady had a twelve step program associated with it that deals with obsessive shopping. I returned to the cyberverse for insight as to this particular program. Wikipedia did not list it but did have thirty two others and six “programs partially patterned after Alcoholics Anonymous.” 12step.com did not have it, but suggested that there were over 50 distinct programs using the twelve steps. Another site claimed that there are thousands. I did find a “Shopaholics Anonymous” run by a lawyer with a whole slew of letters behind his name and the promise of relief, but no reference to any kind of steps. I retreated from this website because I got the feeling that at some point in the investigation I would have gotten to a page that would want me to enter a credit card number. So much for the investigation into the unrestrained and hysterical compulsion to spend money…it is a week before payday, and I think I need a meeting.

I put a stop to this pursuit as I found myself obsessing over the search and truly did not wish to bother my sponsor with this banal pursuit while he was in the middle of providing sustenance for his family. I did find the humor in it, however. One enlightening entry by way of a question on Answerbag.com – “How do I get over my addiction to chocolate chip cookie dough and strawberry cheesecake Ice Cream?” Really now. What kind of a sick son-of-a-b*tch would want to give up any kind of ice cream? (And so enters my Dear Sainted Mother)

The one piece of information that returned me to reality and the underlying principle for this page came, once more, from Answerbag.com. The question; “How many 12 Step group are there?” The answer; “Just 12 to many.”

Now let us get to the crux of the situation. The person commenting on my page implied that my inspiration came from, or was in reply to, some external stimulation garnered from some kind of nonsense analogous to that which you are currently reading. It made me think that my ramblings are not being taken seriously, or that I have little by way of imagination. The idea of such a shallow point of view on my prose could funnel into that most wondrous of places a fellow such as myself might find himself. That lonesome station along the train tracks of intelligent thought where one gets to be, wait, listen for it, IRATE .

Well, incensed, infuriated, or just plain mad will not do for the stream I am writing having to do with my Mother Dear. I liken many of my experiences to something that had creation in the lessons learned at that great woman’s skirt because it is what I am made of. I was sculpted by my experience and much of that I alternately blame, or regale you with originated from the groundwork laid by my Dear Sainted Mother in the chiseling of the persona that is T. Lloyd Reilly. Therein lays the rub. I do not try to be more or less then the way I happen to be at the moment. I could write for decades on the memories of my mother, but only do so as a means to and end. It is up to the reader to discover whatever that might be. “I am what I am and that’s all that I am” is my motto. I have played many roles in my life, and hope to have the opportunity to star as many more. Each day is a new discovery on this journey and a true thinking man does not have to plagiarize ideas.

When I speak of an addiction to shopping, I mean shopping at those fickle sisters that reside in my home town, Wal-Mart South, Wal-Mart Southeast, and Wal-Mart West. Ruminations on the world of the Sage from Bentonville exist for the purpose of giving location for the greater experience of circumnavigating the complex world we find ourselves in. I do not go to the mall because of the prices they charge. I do not buy groceries at other food chains because the same prices can be had at my Mercantile-Of-Choice, and I get to see more people and, thereby, find revelation and insight. I once met a Leprechaun in Wal-Mart, and I do not care if you believe me. I once met the woman of my dreams at a Wal-Mart, and it turned into a nightmare. I once met Jesus Christ in a Wal-Mart, and he told me to smile at all the children I meet in the world. I once met Popeye in the mirror in the restroom, and, given that I was taught how to properly shop, it was all Mommy’s fault.Peace